


To Fall At Your Feet

by titherdel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21573064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titherdel/pseuds/titherdel
Summary: Hawke never wanted to get married. Varric calls her bluff.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	To Fall At Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! First fic I've posted in years (or maybe ever?) so.... go easy on me :') I love these two and don't get tired of writing them, but this is the first time I've polished something up enough to post it. Comments are much appreciated! Enjoy!

“I  _ never _ want to get married,” Hawke said. 

Varric glanced over at her, sprawled across his table spread eagled with her muddy boots staining the tablecloth. The  _ new _ tablecloth, imported from Rivain. 

Ah, well. It was always going to end up covered in booze or blood anyway. He set his quill down. 

“But you’re so  _ marriageable _ ,” he replied in his most innocent voice. Leandra had been back to pressuring Hawke to get to know Kirkwall’s eligible noble bachelors, now that their newfound wealth bumped them up from lowtown thugs to respectable citizens. Hawke wasn’t having it. 

Hawke snorted at his quip, though it was insultingly half-hearted. She had a tendency to be easily distracted, but this was something else. 

He poked her in the side. “Now, you were telling me about the layout of the estate. I’m trying to take notes here, and you’re-” 

“Alright, alright, I got it. You should have someone else do your spying for you, you know. I’m lucky to have even been invited to this party, let alone make it through the whole night without being kicked out. Once that lot gets over the novelty of having such a specimen as me at their meet ups-”

“Yeah, yeah. Less self-aggrandizement and more explaining the layout, please.” 

“Self-aggrandizement,” she repeated at a whisper. “Now that’s a good one.” 

“Hawke. Focus.” 

She sighed. “Fine. Where had I left off? Oh, the stairs. So the stairs lead to a hall with three doors on the left side, two on the right, and one at the end…” 

Five minutes into her description he realized he’d forgotten to resume his note taking. 

\---

“I would never want to get married,” Hawke warned him. She was curled around him, all tangled hair and green eyes that seemed to glow, even in moonlight. 

“That’s good. I was worried that sleeping together once might mean we were engaged now. Fereldens have such weird customs.” 

She pinched his arm. “You’d hate a Ferelden wedding. Too many dogs present for your taste.” 

“I believe it,” he chuckled. “You can count me out anyway. I’m not the marrying type.” 

“Oh yeah?” She grinned at him from across the pillow. “Here I thought you’d be the first out of all of us to settle down. The life of an adventurer is tough on an old dwarf-” 

“Old?! I’m only… how old are you, anyway?” 

“I’m twenty two.” 

“Bullshit. You turned twenty two last year.” 

She rolled onto her back, laughing. “And the year before. Twenty two has the best birthday parties, I think. Last year’s especially.” 

“It could’ve done with less nugs if you ask me.” 

“The nugs were the best part!” 

He elbowed her. “How old are you really?” 

“I’m surprised you haven’t researched me enough to know. How old am I in your book?” When he didn’t answer she gave him a mock frown. “Fine. I’ll be thirty this summer. Don’t tell anyone that, or I’ll have to cut your tongue out.” 

“You like my tongue too much to do that. Besides, thirty’s not so old.” 

“It is if you ask my mother. She always says that if I’m not married by the time I’m- well, she always  _ said _ -” The reminder sobered her up a little, and she looked down. “How old are you, then?” 

“Thirty five.” 

She snorted. “According to my mother, you’re an old maid.” 

“I’m not exactly a maid.” 

“Then you’re just old.” 

He groaned, defeated. “Thirty five isn’t even sort of old,” he muttered, but her attention had drifted elsewhere again, and all talk of marriage and age ceased. 

\---

“I’d never want to get married,” Hawke told the Inquisitor. They were gathering up their belongings after a night spent camping in the Hinterlands- Hawke, who packed light, was the first to finish. Rather than helping any of them she’d decided to supervise. 

Cadash looked at her doubtfully and snapped the drawstrings on her bag shut. “Oh yeah?” 

Hawke was picking dirt out from under her nails with a dagger. The same dagger she used for blood magic, he suspected. “Can you see me in a wedding dress? I wouldn’t last five minutes before somehow it got covered in bloodstains or set on fire. Besides, what’s the point of weddings anyway?” 

“I don’t know..” Cadash cast a glance to where Cassandra was wrestling with her tent. “Marriage seems to.. Have its uses. Wouldn’t you say, Varric?” 

Cadash was always putting him on the spot. Why he’d settled on unwavering loyalty to this woman, he would never know. It seemed to have become a habit. “I guess. Maybe. Marriage doesn’t seem so bad. For everyone, I mean, not me.” 

“Why not you?” Cadash asked. She was squinting at him. That was always a bad sign with her, squinting. It didn’t help that Hawke was looking at him as if he’d pissed on her brother’s grave. Which wasn’t to say that Carver was in a grave. He hoped. He’d have to write to Aveline. 

Cadash coughed. He felt like he was walking into a trap. “Why not me? Seriously? You’re talking to Varric Tethras, here. Think of all the women I’d be disappointing by settling down with just one.” 

Before Hawke could splutter out whatever quip was twisted around her tongue or Cadash could trick him into saying something else stupid, Cassandra returned, tent successfully wrangled, and Cadash set them all to marching. Why she had insisted on inviting Hawke with them he still couldn’t fathom. The woman could complain like nothing else. 

\---

“I know you always say you never want to get married,” Varric said, “but I’m calling your bluff.” 

He was on his knees in front of her, in front of everyone- nearly the whole damn Inquisition had stopped to see the spectacle, and the Inquisitor herself was watching with the most smug grin he could imagine ever crossing her stony face. Hawke stared open-mouthed at the ring in his hand. 

Varric grimaced. “You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” He couldn’t help glancing sideways at the crowd that had gathered. 

“No! I mean- I’m not- ugh. You stupid dwarf! Fine! Give me the damn ring-” She snatched it out of the box and stuffed it on her finger (to uncertain applause from their audience) and then pointed a finger at him menacingly. “But we are  _ not _ having a fancy wedding! We’re eloping. To.. Antiva. Or someplace warm. Where no one knows who we are.” For all the anger in her voice, there was something else there too, and when he looked up she was tearing up, her mouth quivering, lips twitching, as she waited for him to answer. 

“I see that the ring is on your finger, but did I hear a yes in there anywhere?” 

Her face split into a grin. “Yes, yes you idiot-” She broke off to slide into his lap and kiss him (to another round of applause). His shoulders slumped in relief. The only time she took her hands off him was to extend a finger  _ not  _ bearing the ring at whoever whistled at them. 

She pulled away and cradled his face in her hands. “Yes.  _ You _ , I’d marry any day.” 


End file.
